


Future Days

by Laura_McEwan



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-18
Updated: 2003-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_McEwan/pseuds/Laura_McEwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan learn to live in the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Days

**Author's Note:**

> Notes - For Ghostwriter. Dave Matthews Band lyrics: "Cry Freedom" from the album CRASH. Thank you - Ghostie and Master Briony for beta, my padawan Clara for sighing over pretty lines, and Kate and Mary Beth for medical terminology and descriptions.

_How can I turn away_

_Brother/Sister go dancing_

_Through my head_

_Human as to human_

_The future is no place_

_To place your better days_

"This way," Obi-Wan whispered, indicating a direction over his right shoulder  
with a jerk of his head. Gathering their cloaks about them, the Jedi vanished  
silently into the dark and dank corridor.

"There's a light ahead," Qui-Gon murmured, stepping close to speak softly  
in Obi-Wan's ear. His breath was warm against Obi-Wan's neck in the chilly  
air. "I'll check the left." Obi-Wan nodded, his skin cooling as Qui-Gon moved  
away, oblivious to the effect his nearness had on his padawan. Obi-Wan turned  
his head slightly towards the space Qui-Gon had occupied to catch a lingering  
scent of his master, a barest glimmer of presence to savor before he set off  
to take his place on the right, to peer around the edge of the doorway.

The stone room before them was large and round and completely empty, with  
windows set high in the walls. Weak sunlight beamed through these to leave  
patches of light on the bare floor where rivulets of moisture seeped into the  
cracks in the stone, wearing small paths in the hard surface. Another corridor  
branched off from the left side of the room, as dark as the one they slowly  
emerged from, gripping the hilts of their lightsabers, ever ready.

Cautiously, the men circled the room, meeting on the opposite side before  
entering the new corridor. They checked for anyone who might be hiding within  
its shadows, but it was empty.

Obi-Wan leaned disgustedly against the wall. "Any sense of him at all?" he  
asked, reaching out with his own senses but feeling nothing.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. We've lost him." He peered into the dusty heights. "It  
appears we're underground. The windows are high enough in the walls that only  
a short section extends aboveground. What was this room used for?" Qui-Gon  
mused.

Obi-Wan knelt to examine a hole in the wall beside him, then looking beyond  
it to see others in pairs only a meter or so apart, with larger spaces separating  
each pair. "Shackles," he announced. "This was a holding cell, or dungeon,  
if you like."

Qui-Gon nodded in agreement. "Well done, Padawan. I had not yet noticed anything  
that low down the walls."

Obi-Wan grinned. "My shorter height gives me an advantage in this way, at  
least," he teased, as his very tall master chuckled at him.

"We all have our strengths, Obi-Wan. They, among other things, makes us each  
unique." Qui-Gon smiled at his apprentice as he strolled to the center of the  
room, boot heels clicking wetly.

Obi-Wan suddenly shivered, his skin prickling in warning. He took one desperate  
step towards his master, and Qui-Gon fell.

"Master!" Obi-Wan shouted, sliding to his knees as he skittered across the  
floor to the yawning cavern opening before him. "Master!"

In the darkness below him he could hear pebbles tapping as they bounced along  
edges of broken stone. The floor had weakened with time, the rivulets of water  
wearing through cracks in the stone. Timbers that had supported the floor from  
beneath had rotted away and a larger piece of stone had separated into many  
pieces, causing it to collapse onto itself under Qui-Gon's weight. Obi-Wan  
still could not hear the elder Jedi. He reached along the training bond. _Master!_

A faint buzzing crawled back to him, confused, and extremely weak. Alive,  
but fading. Obi-Wan panted out a frightened breath. Lighting his saber, he  
cautiously extended it into the hole to illuminate the wreckage and find his  
master, wary of the remaining floor beneath his knees.

The toe of one dusty boot was visible under shattered rock; there, a hand.  
Obi-Wan's chest hitched as he realized how still that large hand was. Not even  
a twitch. Oh, gods, he thought. _I'm coming, Master. Hold on._

Fastening his saber to his belt, he dropped his robe and turned to his stomach  
to slowly lower himself into the chasm. Gingerly, he felt for stability with  
his foot, not wishing to cascade more debris onto Qui-Gon's body. Balancing  
carefully, he dropped to a crouch and felt for Qui-Gon's boot. He felt his  
way up his master's foot and leg, moving slabs and chunks of rotten wood, until  
he had uncovered all of one leg and part of the man's torso. The hand that  
had been visible rested on his thigh while the other arm was still lost somewhere  
in the wreckage.

Obi-Wan shoved a large slab off to one side, finally revealing Qui-Gon's face  
and chest. Battered and bleeding, his face and eyelids caked with stone dust,  
he lay as still as the stone surrounding him, and just as grey. Dim light from  
above highlighted the spiraling dust cloud, giving Obi-Wan the fearsome impression  
of a spectre of death hovering nearby.

As he felt for Qui-Gon's pulse, Obi-Wan called out to the Jedi. "Master...Master,  
can you hear me?" He held the free hand within his own, but it lay limply,  
unresponsive and cool. The bond only returned the same weak buzz. He lay his  
head gently on his master's chest and then suddenly lunged forward, sealing  
his mouth over Qui-Gon's and pinching his nose shut. Blow: one, two, three,  
check. Nothing.

He tried again, calling on the bond constantly as he did so. _**Master! QUI-GON!!**_  
The man would not breathe on his own.

Obi-Wan continued the pattern for a few more cycles, then pulled his comlink  
from his belt and activated it. "Master Windu! This is an emergency."

*~*~*

Rescue had been thankfully quick; Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were loaded onto a ship  
in a pouring rain and sent hurtling for Coruscant. A med droid had inserted  
a breathing tube while Obi-Wan had watched, clinging yet to the hand that would  
not respond. He had spoken soft words of comfort to the still, pale face of  
his beloved mentor, fingertips brushing wet strands of hair away from the ugly  
tube.

And now he paced, reaching one end of the healer's waiting area, then turning,  
angry at the audacity of the wall to be in his way, to complete the circuit  
back. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, trailing down the braid.  
Wrapping the end around his finger, he tugged, much as Qui-Gon had often done...a  
reminder of the man he could not think of losing.

"Meditate, you must," a quiet voice spoke, and Obi-Wan turned slowly to face  
the small form of Yoda.

"Master Yoda...I..." he trailed off, frustrated with himself, for he had already  
tried and failed to do just that.

"Assist you, I will. Needs you to be centered, Qui-Gon does. Come." He gestured  
to the window at one end of the room.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied obediently, though wearily. With a last glance  
at the doorway through which several healers had rushed his master, he settled  
himself before Yoda and closed his eyes.

Within the stillness of shared meditation there came a small peace. Qui-Gon  
would live.

In the act of spiraling back up to full awareness there came a realization.  
Time was fleeting; Qui-Gon was mortal, and words must be spoken. To keep silent  
risked regret.

*~*~*

Obi-Wan sat beside his master, staring at the still, grey face. His vulnerability  
tore at Obi-Wan's heart. Always, his master had been strong and active, yet  
gentle and kind, and now...now he lay in a healer's bed unable to breathe on  
his own, with a broken pelvis, a concussion, and a broken left arm.

The young man tentatively reached out to brush back the hair on Qui-Gon's  
head, watching his face carefully for signs of a reaction to the touch, even  
though the healers had said not to expect any response for a time. They had  
placed a Force-supression bracelet on the man to allow him first to ease into  
consciousness and then to aid his communion with the Force once he finally  
awoke.

The silky hair caught in Obi-Wan's fingers and he rubbed it carefully, identifying  
the softness and colors. A warm sable brown, with grey and white liberally  
mixed in. He wryly grinned to himself; how many of these lightening strands  
was he responsible for?

He hitched his chair closer and closed one hand over Qui-Gon's. The other  
continued stroking, the repetitive action soothing. The sound of the respirator  
seemed to grow louder in the otherwise silent room, and Obi-Wan began to hum,  
and then sing, the urge to do so stronger than any sense of embarrassment he  
might feel if he were overheard. He sang as if to pull a sound curtain over  
the machine that kept his master alive, to deny its need.

He sang a call to the dawn of consciousness, to bring Qui-Gon back from the  
brink of forever gone. He sang of his love, of his pain, of his wish.

He sang to his love.

*~*~*

__

I feel so heavy. Attached to weights, swimming slowly through a thick,  
black muck, trying to surface, struggling against a fearsome darkness that  
insistently tugs at me, wanting me to feed it, dragging me back. But I want  
the light. I can sense it above me, warm with comfort and peace and I reach  
for it...

_I can feel fingers, smoothing the hair back from my forehead, gentle, calming  
touches. A first blessed sensation after nothing but darkness. How long have  
I been in that darkness? I do not know. Nor why._

_I cannot move, but the touch on my head allows me freedom from fear. I cannot  
open my eyes, nor speak, nor, apparently, breathe on my own as the feel of  
the tube down my throat and the involuntary rise and fall of my chest becomes  
apparent to my awakening senses. I cannot feel the Force, nor my training bond  
with my padawan, yet this does not distress me, for I can hear, and what I  
hear is the sound of the sweetest voice I know. Not that I have ever told him.  
Smooth and cultured, with an accent that is different, and yet not so different  
from my own, adding depth and character to the words he chooses, a passionate  
melody of rational thoughts and ideas, of jokes and laughter, of somber and  
sobering statements._

_Or in this case, of actual singing. Soothing in its simplicity, sweet in its  
purpose, it is a warm cocoon for my ragged, weak being to slip inside. I do  
not know where I am or what is wrong, but I am comforted and I accept the comfort  
because I have no choice. How grateful I am that he his near as I wake._

_I do not recall specifically any instances of my Obi-Wan singing, although  
I am sure I must have heard him in the past as I recognize the honey of his  
song. It warms me._

_Ah, my padawan, what other talents do you hide and harbor that I have chosen  
not to see?_

_I cling to the touchstones of my suddenly shallow, limited life: his fingers  
in my hair and his voice in my ears. At this moment, they encompass the whole  
of my world._

_The song continues, the cadence slow and the tone a touch sad, and gradually  
I am able to pick out words from the tune._

_"...the future is no place to place your better days..."_

_Ah, a thought to ponder. A focus point._

_Mentally, I settle in to dissect and reassemble that line of his song even  
as he continues to sing other words that escape my precise notice. The clicking  
of the respirator keeps an odd rhythm with the music of my Obi-Wan._

_The future is no place to place your better days._

_Perhaps my padawan does  
listen to me. Live in the moment, I've told him enough times. His prescience  
often propels him to cast his thoughts further ahead, to worry and fuss about  
possible happenings in a fluid future._

_Better days. What does this mean? Are not our days what we make of them? Now  
is the time. Embrace the moment. Why would we put off having a *better* time  
when we do not truly know what the future holds? *Someday* may never come,  
especially in the life of a Jedi._

_But is this not what you do to yourself, Qui-Gon? I ask myself as my thoughts  
slide to my repressed feelings for Obi-Wan. Inwardly, I grimace as I face my  
own truths._

_The Code, the balance of power, the difference in our ages - all my excuses  
for not telling my padawan the depth of my feelings for him. Rules, yes, but  
I would be lying to myself if I did not acknowledge that the waiting is killing  
me inside. And the risk of being refused...I cannot think on it._

_I will not rush his training, however; my need to taste of him is not worth  
a lifetime of work wasted in failed trials and broken spirits. Yet everytime  
I place a hand on his body to correct his positioning in a kata or brush his  
fingers as we pass food to one another, my skin is imprinted where it touches  
his, and I wonder that he cannot feel the heat of it._

_I want him. I need his soul and vibrancy, and I cannot tell him. Padawan of  
mine, child of my heart. I cherish, so deeply, the boy he was. Watching him  
learn from his mistakes, taming his rashness. Seeing the confidence in his  
abilities build while limiting his arrogance. I observe all this with not a  
little pride, knowing I had a hand in the making of a Jedi. And in cherishing  
the boy, I've fallen in love with the man._

_I desire his heart. He certainly has mine; he has held it in his young hands  
for longer than I wish to admit. I must tell him...before it's too late. If  
I can awaken further. I can no longer save my words for some future day._

_The steady stroke of his touch lulls me back to the sleep he does not even  
realize I've awakened from. I am vaguely aware that he has stopped singing  
and is speaking, but I cannot make out his words nor to whom he is speaking..._

*~*~*

Obi-Wan sang. He did not know what compelled him to do so, as he rarely ever  
did. He only knew that he should. Somehow, some way, he would reach his master,  
if by touch or voice or sheer will. The respirator clicked a steady rhythm,  
a droning, staccato reminder of just how injured Qui-Gon was. To see him lying  
so weak and pale in a hospital bed was a sight Obi-Wan fervently hoped to never  
see again. Vulnerable. An unworthy position for a man of Qui-Gon's strength  
and stature, at least to his worshipping padawan's eyes.

"Padawan Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan looked up, startled, to see Healer C'Laro checking on the respirator  
and Qui-Gon's vital signs.

"It's good to sing. Oftentimes it can be the trigger to bring a patient out  
of a coma. Keep trying."

"I don't wish to disturb anyone else, Healer."

C'Laro smiled. "There's no one else in the wing at this time. Besides, even  
if there were, I think they would be pleased to hear the songs. Beyond that,  
I would like to get him into a bacta tank, but I can't do that while he's attached  
to the respirator. Too risky if something should happen. The sooner he wakes  
up, the better."

Obi-Wan returned his attention to his master as C'Laro left the room again,  
jotting notes on a datapad.

"Master, please wake up. We have work yet to do, and there are things I must  
say. Things I should have said long ago but was too...afraid."

He threaded his fingers into the soft length of greying hair. How often he  
had brushed this hair for Qui-Gon after evening meditations, as an additional  
meditation of sorts for them both. Obi-Wan always reveled in handling such  
an intimate part of his master, while Qui-Gon relaxed under the gentle massage  
of the brush and his padawan's tapered fingers. Those were the times when Obi-Wan  
could voice his concerns over classwork, or a mission where he felt he'd made  
a mistake, and Qui-Gon would counsel him, listening and speaking in turns.  
Their training bond strengthened and became something more in these private,  
personal sessions as each man opened up to the other. Oftentimes Qui-Gon would  
tell Obi-Wan of his training as a padawan under Master Dooku and Obi-Wan thrilled  
to hear of missions and actions in the field from one who had participated  
in the outcomes rather than simply reading about them in Jedi History class.

I want more of those times, Obi-Wan thought. We're not finished with each  
other yet. I need you.

A soft tapping at the door pulled Obi-Wan from his reverie. Self-consciously  
he let go of Qui-Gon's hair and swiped at his face, just realizing the tears  
that had trickled down his cheeks into the scruff of whiskers. "Come in," he  
called softly, smiling weakly as his friend Garen entered the room.

"Hey," Garen whispered. "I came to see how Master Jinn was doing. Is he any  
better?"

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly, his sad gaze traveling back to rest on the  
silent, still form lying before him.

Garen stepped around the end of the bed and stood behind Obi-Wan, placing  
his hands on the young man's shoulders. "You look tired. Have you slept since  
you returned?" He began to knead at the tense knots under his palms.

Obi-Wan groaned appreciatively and dropped his head forward, chin to his chest,  
his hands draped loosely against his thighs. "No...I don't want to miss him  
if he wakes up at all. Garen?" he suddenly asked, grateful to not be alone  
at this moment. "Could I talk to you about something? Privately?"

Garen continued his manipulations, changing the angle as the muscles began  
to loosen under his fingers. "You know you can tell me about anything, Obi," he  
replied. "What's up?"

The young Jedi drew in a deep breath. "I think I'm in love with Qui-Gon. No,  
I don't think I am -- I know I am."

The hands on his shoulders stilled for several moments, then resumed their  
gripping massage. Obi-Wan held his breath, suddenly afraid of the possible  
reactions to his revelation.

"When did you realize this?" Garen's voice was quiet, but accepting. Obi-Wan  
blew out his breath, relieved that his best friend was still there.

"I've known for some time, but I haven't said anything or acted on it. I was  
too afraid of what Qui-Gon might say, and the Code...well. I just kept quiet." Obi-Wan  
raised his head to gaze upon his master's face again, the tube and the respirator  
both suddenly large and loud in the room. "Now I wish I had said something.  
At the very least, he'd know. Garen...what if he never wakes up? What if I  
never get the chance to say what I've wanted to?" He turned and looked up at  
his friend. "What if he's lost to me forever?"

Garen swiftly pushed aside his concerns over Code and Council should they  
learn of this sudden development, not to mention the reaction of several female  
padawans who secretly had crushes on the handsome young man, and came around  
to kneel in front of his grieving friend, gripping Obi-Wan's hands in his own.

"Don't lose hope yet, Obi-Wan," he said firmly, his eyes focused on his friend's  
tired, damp ones. "The healers feel he will wake up, right? That the damage  
from the concussion will be temporary? You're so worn out, you're not thinking  
rationally. Please, sleep. For me? For him?" He gestured to the empty bed beside  
Qui-Gon's. "Lay there and sleep and I'll stay here with you both. If he shows  
any signs of awakening, I'll wake you up immediately. Please, Obi-Wan?"

His voice betrayed his worry as Obi-Wan looked into the concerned face of  
his dearest friend. While Garen's plea made sense, he had a vague idea that  
the healers had put Garen up to this, to get him to sleep. But he knew Garen  
was sincere.

Obi-Wan nodded. "All right," he agreed, "but could you fetch me some clean  
clothes first?" He pointed out the smudges and rips in his leggings and singlet,  
and indicating a pile of dirty tunics on the floor. "I'll sleep after I get  
a shower and some clean clothes."

"Of course," Garen said, glad to be of any help. He stood, pulling the other  
young man up into an embrace. Obi-Wan laid his head on Garen's shoulder, breathing  
in his vitality and strength. This contrast to Qui-Gon's fragility brought  
unbidden tears and he shuddered, trying not to release the burst of anguish  
that suddenly welled in his chest. Garen only held him tighter and Obi-Wan  
gave up his grief to the space of the room and Garen's tunic, clinging. The  
only sounds were that of his quiet sobs and Garen's murmurings of comfort,  
punctuated by the steady clicking of the respirator, like a clock measuring  
the length of Qui-Gon's forced breaths.

After several minutes Garen seated a calmer Obi-Wan back in his chair, brushed  
leftover tears from his face, and pressed a friendly kiss to the top of his  
head. "I'll be back soon," he said softly.

Obi-Wan nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Garen," he whispered, his eyes full  
of affection for his friend. "Thank you for being here."

"And where else would I be when you need me?" Garen teased gently. Obi-Wan  
grinned suddenly and Garen returned it before slipping out the door.

Within ten minutes Garen returned, various articles of clothing, including  
a cloak of Qui-Gon's, in his arms. Upon entry, however, his heart caught as  
he saw that Obi-Wan had lain his head on Qui-Gon's bed and fallen asleep, unwashed  
and unshaven, his master's hand held tightly in his own.

It's true, he thought. Obi-Wan is in love with Qui-Gon.

Placing the clothes on Obi-Wan's bed, he lay the cloak over Obi-Wan's back  
and then settled himself in a chair nearby to watch over his friend and his  
master while they slept.

*~*~*

__

*Hiss...clink. Hiss...clink.* The respirator beats its two-toned rhythm  
as I float back to consciousness, its sound the only one I can hear, yet I  
sense that I am not alone. There is the pressure of weight near my side, and  
gradually I become aware of my hand being held tightly and a flutter of breath  
against the small hairs on the back of my hand. It is a welcome sensation,  
both for the reality of my senses returning, and also for my padawan's warmth  
and nearness as he sleeps. I am grateful for his presence. No one else would  
hold my hand so besides the one who knows me best. He is a rock of stability  
in my fleeting, dark world and I cling to him as surely as he clings to me.

_What was I thinking about before I slipped away?_

_Oh, yes. The future and the now. Better days. I need to make this day better.  
For him, for myself._

_I take stock of the rest of my body. My left arm feels numb compared to my  
right, my pelvis is a source of pain that I was not aware of earlier, but my  
legs feel whole and unharmed. My head hurts._

_My right hand lays within the palm of my padawan, and it is here that I try  
to make my silent consciousness known. Concentrating, and finding it far more  
difficult than I expected, I try to move a finger. It results in a small twitch  
but I rejoice in my success._

_I pause, letting the respirator click and hiss a few times, then try again.  
Two fingers twitch this time and I feel Obi-Wan's hand move in response. Again,  
two fingers, and his hand presses warmly against mine. The weight of his head  
lifts from the bed and I feel his lips against my fingers._

_"Master?" It is a whisper full of hope and longing, and I can hear the tears  
hiding behind the quavering question. Oh, my padawan, that I could just hold  
you, tell you I'm all right. Tell you I love you._

_But for now, the best I can do is twitch my fingers again._

_Oh, that blessed hand stroking my hair again. I try to smile but the respirator  
prevents me. I wish I could access our bond but the Force remains mute, detached  
from my control. This denied power suddenly distresses me where it did not  
earlier, and above my head an insistent beeping begins a worrisome signal._

_Quick feet approach and my hand is released as different hands rest on my  
head and heart. Don't let go of my hand, Obi-Wan, please, keep touching me..._

_"Hypo," says an unknown voice, and just before the soft darkness descends  
on my consciousness again, I hear my padawan, close to my ear._

_"He was awake. I know it." Wet warmth on my face. "Come back to me, Master." Fingers  
in my hair, and then nothing._

*~*~*

"He was awake. I know it," Obi-Wan said, his voice catching as he struggled  
for composure. "He moved his hand and then the beepers went off."

C'Laro nodded, busily logging notes in Qui-Gon's datapad chart. "He became  
agitated for some reason. Possibly, he realized he couldn't access the Force.  
The hypo will wear off soon." He reached across Qui-Gon to pat Obi-Wan's hand. "If  
you feel he's awake again, tell him he'll get his Force control back when he's  
stronger and to remain calm in the meantime. He'll listen to you."

Obi-Wan stared at C'Laro's back as the healer turned and walked briskly away.  
A heavy sigh left his body as he applied a deeper meaning to the healer's final  
comments. Would his master listen to other things his padawan had to say?

He reached out to lay his hand against Qui-Gon's pale cheek, gently rubbing  
his palm against the beard, soft and prickly, both at once. Distinctly Qui-Gon.

"Obi?" Obi-Wan startled, having forgotten about Garen sitting nearby. "You  
were asleep when I came back in," Garen explained. "Do you want to go clean  
up now?"

The padawan rubbed at his chin, realizing he had not tended to himself since  
they had returned from the mission with Qui-Gon barely alive. "You'll come  
get me if he wakes up?"

"I promise. Go. You'll feel better." Garen handed leggings and a single tunic  
to Obi-Wan, who stood, Qui-Gon's cloak slipping to the floor. The young man  
blinked in surprise at its presence.

"I thought you might like that. A part of Qui-Gon to wrap up in."

Obi-Wan felt tears of gratitude welling up again and gathered Garen into a  
fierce hug. "That means so much to me," he whispered. "What would I do without  
you?"

"You'd still be needing a shower. Now go." Garen gave Obi-Wan a gentle shove  
toward the 'fresher door. "I'll stay right beside him until you get back."

After picking the cloak up off the floor and burying his face in it for a  
brief moment before laying it across Qui-Gon's legs, Obi-Wan shuffled to the  
'fresher, looking back one last time at his master before closing the door  
behind him. Garen could hear water running a few minutes later.

He seated himself in the chair Obi-Wan had vacated and took it upon himself  
to speak to the silent master.

"Master Qui-Gon, I don't know if you can hear me, but this is Garen. Please  
try to wake up. Obi-Wan needs you. More than you may realize. It's very important  
that he speaks with you and you really should be awake when he does." He stopped,  
feeling awkward for talking to someone who couldn't respond, and looked over  
the form of the revered Jedi.

The massive chest rose and fell with the aid of a machine, bruised where the  
stones had crushed him. The tube down his throat delivered air and oxygen to  
the still body lying on the bed, and a smaller tube in his arm kept him nourished.  
His skin was pale and his eyes were slightly sunken into their sockets.

Garen closed his eyes against the image that he knew would be seared in Obi-Wan's  
memory forever. The loss of strength and vitality. The near loss of a master's  
life.

But he could also see Obi-Wan's love for Qui-Gon. Beyond any rational thought  
or fear of rejection by the older man, beyond any sense of propriety, of the  
Code, or of the Council. He loved him, and had nearly lost him. How fleeting  
time was, how quickly a moment could pass before necessary words were spoken  
or reasonable actions taken.

"What have I been waiting for?" Obi-Wan's voice was quiet behind him and Garen  
rose to allow his friend to reclaim his seat, noting that Obi-Wan had forgotten  
to shave. "Have I lost my chance, putting my dreams off for a future day?"

Garen embraced a still-damp Obi-Wan from behind. "No, of course not. He'll  
wake up. You'll see." He tightened his arms briefly before letting go completely. "Obi-Wan,  
will you be all right if I leave for a few minutes? There's something I need  
to take care of."

Obi-Wan flashed a smile at his friend, although his eyes were still reddened  
from emotion and lack of sleep. "Certainly. I'll be fine."

Garen replaced Qui-Gon's cloak around the tired young man. "I'll bring you  
back something to eat when I return."

"That sounds good," Obi-Wan sighed. "I do feel a bit hungry." How long had  
it been since he had eaten? He remembered C'Laro saying something about it,  
but he'd ignored him in favor of willing Qui-Gon back to consciousness.

Garen nodded and left the room, pulling out his comlink to contact his girlfriend. "Saraahn?  
Could you meet me in the upper garden, on our bench? There's something I need  
to talk to you about." He smiled as he slipped the comlink back in his pocket.  
Even in his state of great emotional distress, Obi-Wan gave unwittingly good  
advice about relationships.

Obi-Wan shifted in his seat, drawing Qui-Gon's hand against his chest in his  
need for touch. Qui-Gon was much warmer than the day before, after being trapped  
in an underground prison. Refreshed by the shower and the support of his friend,  
and strengthened by the Force signature in the cloak he wore, Obi-Wan resumed  
his singing, stronger and clearer than before.

*~*~*

__

Singing. I could get used to hearing the melody of my padawan for the rest  
of my life.

_I float towards the music, stepping higher with each bright note, a brilliant  
staircase to the light, and suddenly my eyes are open, barely slits, but open._

_My light. My padawan. Seated beside me, holding my hand, he sings from the  
heart and I know he sings for me. His eyes are closed and I note stubble on  
his chin, a brighter red-gold than his hair, and but for the dampness of his  
hair I would believe that he had not left my side. Such devotion for his old  
master. My heart swells with my love for him, and I twitch my fingers in his._

_Red-rimmed eyes open and a smile slowly spreads across his face as he realizes  
I am awake. "Master," he breathes, a relieved whisper from a worried soul._

_Ah, my Obi-Wan. I am sorry to have upset you so. I wish I could speak in some  
way._

_My half-open eyes must have said something to him, for he leans in to smooth  
my hair again. "Your Force access has been suppressed for now. You are on a  
respirator to help you breathe. Blink for me if you understand."_

_I obey my padawan, finding irony in doing so. He is in charge now._

_He smiles at my response. "My master. Welcome back." His voice is soft and  
his hand continues its gentle work while I fight the desire to close my eyes  
and surrender to the caress. I want to see his face; I want him to see me._

_I summon what little strength I possess, stunned at how weak I truly am. I  
am gratified to find that I can raise my arm, albeit shakily. He allows me  
to carry his hand to his face so I can touch him, and he turns my hand so that  
my palm presses his cheek. Tears spill from his blue-grey eyes, and I am surprised  
to feel wetness trickle down my own cheek._

_The physical effort has tired me far more than I expected and my velvet blanket  
of sleep beckons again._

_*I love you,* I whisper across the silent bond, although he can't hear it.  
I slip away, my hand still held against warm, damp skin and prickly stubble._

*~*~*

__

It's night. The room is mostly dark with only a dim light from somewhere  
beside me. It shines on the russet hair of my padawan in a muted glow. His  
body sits in a chair and his head lies on my bed. His face is relaxed but for  
the creases in his forehead; a sure sign of his worry, if I know my boy.

_My hand is held loosely in his, so deeply asleep is he, and again I work to  
move my arm and rest my hand on the side of his head, my fingers settling amongst  
the soft spikes of his hair. I stroke his temple with my thumb and he murmurs,  
turning toward the touch, the worry lines smoothing a bit as his dreams shift  
to more pleasant ones._

_Proud. Yes, I am proud that I can help him in this small way, my padawan who  
sleeps by my side, wrapped in my own cloak in this healing room. Would that  
he could sleep by my side in my own bed, arms wrapped and legs entwined with  
mine so I could breathe his scent throughout the night._

_I feel fully awake now, far more alert than I have been in my past surfacings,  
and I try to recall how my body came to be in this condition, and for how long._

_*Hiss...click. Hiss...click.* The respirator annoys me and I turn my eyes  
in a vague effort to escape the sound._

_My eyes fall on a high window, and I lie here watching as the sky outside  
lightens with the dawn, thinking on my life to this point._

_I have long been in a state of flux, neither happy nor unhappy. I was content  
enough with my life as a Jedi, with the negotiations and the bureaucracy and  
all that, but something was missing. Something - personal, and private._

_Before my eyes, the gawky boy who had wormed his way into my heart was suddenly  
a man, sleek muscle and smooth skin, dimpled chin and flashing eyes, a smile  
that could melt the most iron-hearted warrior, and a quick intelligence and  
dry sardonic humor that balanced with my matter-of-fact manner. I surrendered  
the rest of my heart the day I realized I loved him, more than a father figure,  
more than a mentor. I was but a man behind the saber, and he was more than  
a boy - much more than I ever anticipated or bargained for._

_And now he is here, a grown young man, sleeping with his head resting on my  
bed, worried and frightened for me. Would he return the same love I would offer  
him? I am not young. And I am his master._

_Fool, I am. He would never love me that way or attach himself to an old man.  
He worries because he loves me as his teacher, his friend._

_As if he heard me, my padawan stirs and smiles at me through sleepy eyes. "Good  
morning," he murmurs, reaching up to clasp my hand that still rests against  
his face. "Have you been awake long?"_

_I blink once at him, feeling foolishly owlish._

_"Hmm. How about once for yes and twice for no?" His smile is warm, comforting,  
and sleepiness is overtaking me again, but I struggle to stay awake as I do  
not wish to leave him just yet._

_I blink once again and he squeezes my hand. "Don't fight the sleeping. It's  
the best thing for you to heal. You know this," he says, teasingly accusing,  
repeating back words to me that I'd spoken many times during his childhood  
illnesses. I blink once, again, then frown._

_What happened? Why am I here?_

_"I promise, when you wake again, I'll tell you what happened," he says reassuringly,  
understanding my unspoken question, and I submit to his decision, to his hand  
on mine, and drift away to the soft oblivion again._

*~*~*

__

"Master?" A soft whisper brushes against the incoherent images jumbled  
in my dream. In it, the voice comes from my padawan, lying naked in my bed,  
holding out a spoon to feed me ice cream.

_"Master? Can you wake up?" The whisper becomes more urgent and the ice cream  
sweetness is his voice near my ear. The dream slips away; I try to retain the  
lovely image in my memory before I become fully conscious. I feel a hand on  
my cheek and my eyes open._

_A smile of relief. "Master, you frightened me. You've been asleep for nearly  
two days. The healers were concerned that you were slipping back into the coma  
and asked me to try to call you back."_

_Two days? Two days since I laid my hand to his face? As I look, I see the  
stubble there has grown much more than I expected._

_"It looks like he put himself into a bit of a healing trance, Padawan Kenobi.  
He doesn't need to access the Force to do that," a voice on the other side  
of me explains. I slowly turn my head to see. "Good evening," he says to me,  
a smiling humanoid with green skin. "I'm Healer C'Laro. Your vital signs are  
improving greatly, possibly due to the length of time you've slept, and I'm  
hoping that in a few hours we can remove the breathing tube and see how you  
do on your own."_

_I blink once. Anything to turn off that damnable clicking noise._

_C'Laro looks quizzically at me, and Obi-Wan hastens to explain, "He blinks  
once for yes and twice for no. I think he's a bit too shaky for any writing."_

_"Ah. Good. I gather you are anxious to turn that noisy thing off." C'Laro  
pats me on the shoulder. "For now, let your padawan and his friend talk to  
you and move your right arm a bit. Get the blood flowing. We'll work on your  
left arm and legs after bacta treatment."_

_I blink once again to acknowledge, and turned my head slowly back to Obi-Wan.  
He grins at me, clearly amused at the idea of being in charge of my body for  
a time. Oh, my padawan is entirely capable of getting my blood flowing. I only  
hope I don't embarrass myself._

_I see Garen appear behind Obi-Wan and he smiles at me. "Good evening, Master  
Jinn. I hope you are feeling better."_

_I blink, and note that he has placed his arm around Obi-Wan, a gesture I feel  
is a rather intimate touch, but then, Obi-Wan has been obviously upset. Am  
I feeling jealous of their closeness now that I've fully admitted my feelings  
about my apprentice to myself? For as often as Garen has shared our quarters  
for study sessions, sleepovers, and several meals, returning the hospitality  
in kind in his own quarters, it is not unrealistic to expect that they have  
grown very close to one another. But to the point of intimacy?_

_Oh, stop, I tell myself. Don't jump to conclusions. Doesn't Garen have a girlfriend?  
Saraahn?_

_Do I even know if Obi-Wan prefers men to women?_

_Obi-Wan suddenly looms over me, raising my arm and then lowering it again  
slowly._

_I feel absurdly like a puppet, my physical self manipulated by my padawan,  
but if I can be released from this silent prison by these methods, then I will  
do what I must._

_I focus on Obi-Wan as he commits to his task. Gentle hands grip my arm as  
he flexes and bends it, his fingers straightening out mine and allowing them  
to curl naturally again. Unwittingly, he moves at a tempo that matches the  
respirator and I hate that sound._

_Sing for me._

_I arrest the movement of my arm and he looks at me, concern that he has hurt  
me showing in his lovely eyes. I move my hand so my fingers touch his lips  
and he smiles briefly. "What is it, Master? Have I hurt you?" I blink twice.  
No. "Do you wish me to stop moving you?" No. I drag a finger up his throat,  
over the prickly stubble, to his mouth again. Sing. Please._

_Understanding floods his face, and he blushes. Glancing at Garen, he bends  
to my ear. "You wish me to sing?" Very deliberately, I blink once._

_A smile spreads across his face. "Whatever you desire, Master." My Obi-Wan.  
Sing for me._

_The beauty of his voice fills the room. The noise of the respirator fades  
away as tones of honey and gold replace it. I grip his hand in gratitude and  
close my eyes to listen, the sound of it a cool breeze against my face, gentle  
water lapping at my skin as I bathe in a warm lake, a soft, soft bed where  
I can sleep with my Obi-Wan nestled warm and snug beside me..._

*~*~*

Obi-Wan ended his song as he watched his master drift off to sleep again.  
Gently he laid Qui-Gon's arm on the bed and sat, never taking his eyes off  
of his master's relaxed face.

Garen began a gentle massage that dropped Obi-Wan's head to his chest and  
he was silent as Garen spoke.

"I didn't know you could sing, Obi. And very well, too." Garen's touch grew  
firmer. "If I didn't already love Saraahn and you Qui-Gon, I'd be pining for  
you after hearing that."

Obi-Wan chuckled briefly. "I've been singing to him. I couldn't stand the  
sound of that machine, and I thought that maybe...he'd hear me." He raised  
his head and gazed at his master, a small smile gracing his face. "It seems  
he did."

"He'll hear you in the other things you want to say, Obi-Wan. He will."

*~*~*

Healer C'Laro raised the head of the bed so that Qui-Gon was partially sitting  
up. "Does that bother your pelvis much, Master?" he asked of his patient, watching  
his face closely for signs of pain. Qui-Gon blinked twice, then slowly experimented  
with moving his head from side to side.

"All right. While you were sleeping those two days, I've been weaning you  
off the vent. Most of your breathing is on your own, and you are doing quite  
well. I'm going to pull the tube out now. You may want to cough and your throat  
is likely to be irritated. Are you ready?"

Qui-Gon's eyes shifted to his apprentice standing by his bedside, Garen hovering  
behind. Obi-Wan gave him a reassuring smile and slipped his hand into Qui-Gon's,  
giving it a squeeze.

Looking back at C'Laro, he blinked once.

"All right, here we go."

C'Laro detached the breathing unit from the tube and began to tug the tube  
forward. Qui-Gon gagged and then coughed. Obi-Wan gripped his hand harder,  
watching with wide eyes as his master slowly drew in a breath completely on  
his own.

"Slow...slow...good. It'll get easier here in a bit." C'Laro listened to Qui-Gon  
breathe without much apparent concern. "I'll remove the Force inhibitor if  
you seem to be breathing well."

"You're doing fine, Master." Obi-Wan spoke quietly and Qui-Gon raised his  
eyes to meet his padawan's green ones. His face was pinking up and he clutched  
at Obi-Wan's hand as if to meld it to his own.

"Obi...Wan...sing..." he rasped out, before closing his eyes to focus on the  
process of relearning to breathe, wishing he could draw the Living Force around  
himself like Obi-Wan had wrapped Qui-Gon's cloak around his own body.

Obi-Wan sat in the chair and wrapped both hands around Qui-Gon's, bringing  
it to his lips. As he continued to stare at his master, he shut out the room  
around him, the healer, Garen, everything, and focused only on Qui-Gon. Softly,  
he began to sing, leaning in as if only he and Qui-Gon were in the room, and  
a small smile crept onto the injured man's face. Eventually, Qui-Gon's breathing  
became less labored and more normal, the rasping quieting, and he relaxed against  
his pillow until the song ended.

"Tell me now what happened," he asked, his voice gritty but stronger.

Obi-Wan shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the recollection. "Do  
you remember being on V'Renian?"

Qui-Gon thought a moment, his brow creasing. "We were underground..."

"Yes, in a dungeon, we determined. Then you walked to the center of the room  
and the floor collapsed and took you with it. I knew it was going to happen  
just before it did and I...I couldn't get to you in time." Obi-Wan's voice  
quavered, just for a moment, guilt tinging the edges of his words. "You were  
covered in rotten timbers and slabs of stone and when I finally got you uncovered  
you weren't breathing."

"Your padawan saved your life," C'Laro interjected, releasing the inhibitor  
bracelet from Qui-Gon's wrist, "breathing for you until help arrived. Now,  
let me know if Force access comes back too quickly for you and I'll put the  
bracelet back on."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes again and reached out with his mind. The Force swirled  
towards him in strong images of greens and blues, ready to embrace his being,  
to return to him a power as important as the breath he had lost. Out of the  
maelstrom a single strand stood out, beautifully golden and quivering with  
worry and sorrow. Gently he touched at it, sending reassurance to his padawan.

Obi-Wan twitched, visibly reacting to the reconnection, tears of relief shining  
in his eyes. "After you fell, all I could get from you through our bond was  
a buzzing that just got fainter and fainter." Obi-Wan's voice grew very quiet. "I  
truly felt I was losing you."

"Ah, my Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon loosened his hand from his apprentice's grip in  
order to run his fingers across the beard that had filled in rather rapidly  
the last few days. "You will never lose me."

Obi-Wan could not answer, but instead radiated joy at the return of his master,  
relishing his voice and touch.

Garen silently realized that now was the time for master and apprentice to  
be alone. He rose and whispered in the healer's ear, startling C'Laro from  
his incessant datapad entries. With a wry glance at his patient, C'Laro followed  
Garen from the room.

"I heard you, you know." Qui-Gon's voice still held a slight rasp. "I heard  
you singing. I woke once but couldn't open my eyes, or move, so I listened." He  
touched his apprentice's lips, mimicking his gesture when he had asked Obi-Wan  
to sing earlier. "It was a lovely way to wake." The master smiled. "I was able  
to pick out one line and think on it a bit. 'The future is no place to place  
your better days.' What is your interpretation of that statement?"

Obi-Wan looked faintly surprised at the question. He took a deep breath and  
answered, ever the perfect padawan. "It means we shouldn't wait for someday  
to happen. Today is the day."

"Now is the time?" Qui-Gon asked to verify his padawan's statement.

"Live in the moment, Master."

Blue and green gazes locked together, and for that moment the world disappeared.  
There existed only two men, joined by hand, both wanting the same things but  
both too bound by tradition and fear of rejection to speak of matters of the  
heart.

Well, then. Actions speak louder.

"Live in the moment, Padawan," Qui-Gon whispered, pulling Obi-Wan closer until  
his lips parted and Qui-Gon touched them with his own.

Hot tears spilled from Obi-Wan's eyes as the truth of the kiss hit home. Cautiously  
he lowered his shields, fearful of flooding the re-established bond, and sent  
his love and desire back to his master.

"I-I need to tell you, Master -- before it's too late -- before it's ever  
too late again. I love you," he breathed, his heart pounding so loud that surely  
Qui-Gon could hear it. "And I don't care if I have to wait until I'm knighted  
to say it again. I'll willingly wait, as long as you hear me now and know that  
I mean it."

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's eyes twinkled. "I just kissed you. Don't you think that  
perhaps I feel the same way?"

Obi-Wan wasted no time in pressing his lips to Qui-Gon's again, tasting of  
the man he'd loved for so long. "Tell me," he whispered, tangling fingers in  
the silky hair he'd stroked for several days. "Tell me."

"I love you, Obi-Wan. I will no longer put off saying that until some unknown  
future day. I love you, and have for a long while now."

He tugged Obi-Wan down until the younger man was lying next to him on the  
bed, his head tucked into the curve of Qui-Gon's shoulder. Carefully Obi-Wan  
laid his hand on Qui-Gon's bruised chest while Qui-Gon's hand stroked at the  
reddish beard of his padawan.

"I like this," Qui-Gon murmured. "Will you let it grow after you are knighted?"

"Let's get me knighted first. But possibly, I could, if you like it so." The  
apprentice fell silent for a moment before asking the question he feared.

"What of the Code and the Council, Master?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice full  
of dread.

"We'll worry about that when the time comes. Focus on the here and now. Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Sing for me again?"

Qui-Gon could feel the smile against his shoulder. "Whatever you desire, Master."

Qui-Gon drifted back to sleep, dreaming of other things he desired from his  
Obi-Wan, with the man pressed against him on the bed and that sweet voice singing  
in his ear.

Today was a better day.

_~end_


End file.
